


In Imladris, A Broken Sword

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Poetry, War of the Ring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 12:44:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3769046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boromir and Faramir dreamt many times of Imladris, and Isildur's Bane, and a broken sword. A poetic look at the dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Imladris, A Broken Sword

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

He walks in sleep; many times at night  
Does he turn 'twixt pillars, pace the floor,  
And mutter soft words; haunted eyes  
Rove white halls, high tow'rs,  
Searching, hunting, ever-seeking  
Caught in webs of dreams.

Night-walker, poet, quiet dreamer,  
Younger-son, reluctant; lordly-Faramir.  
Too slow, perchance, to war and anger;  
For all that, yet a worthy man.

He walks, 'neath the blue-black night,  
Thinking- dreams haunt him now,  
Light in the West, a hand that heals,  
Voice afar-off cries  
In Imladris, a broken sword,  
And counsels good and wise.  
Legends, halflings forth shall stand  
And change the world -  
Then Boromir wakes.  
Tousled-hair, sleepy-eyed, yet  
Quietly concerned - 'What, Faramir!  
Not abed, at this hour? For is't not  
Unwholesome to wander, when art not  
Yet well? But withal, art troubled.'

Faramir speaks: he is troubled indeed,  
Yet will not tell all - for afraid is he  
That his brother, scorning poets and  
Petty fancies, the like of which Faramir's seen often,  
Will mock, and dismiss, and cry 'Faugh!'

But when he tells, and asks what to do -  
Boromir is silent - for he has dreamt too.


End file.
